Holiday Cheer
by Smarty Cat
Summary: [Oneshot] Relena slips away from a Christmas gala for a bit of alone time and ends up with a drinking companion. 1xR ALL comments and criticisms are welcome.


**Please note: As of November 2011, ALL NEW FICS unrelated to previously posted works will be posted under the name Inverse Calico. A link is on my author profile.**

I am in the process of writing an unrelated series of Christmas ficlets for friends. The ficlets were intended to be plotless interludes under 1500 words. Well, this is still plotless and still an interlude, but it's over twice as long as it should have been. I've also gotten a bit rusty regarding this whole writing for fun thing. Nevertheless, I hope someone out there gets a bit of enjoyment from it, rambling and disjointed as it is.

**Disclaimer****:** Gundam Wing is owned by Sunrise and Sotsu Agency and distributed in America exclusively under license by Bandai Entertainment. I own nothing remotely related to Gundam Wing except for various merchandise.

**Completed: **December 20, 2004

_For Morrighan of Crimson and Sable_

_I hope it's fluffy enough for you!_

**Holiday Cheer**

by  
**Smarty Cat**

Relena Darlian née Peacecraft stretched with a most unladylike moan of satisfaction the moment her feet left the final burgundy-carpeted stair. A startled gasp checked her mid-movement, and she froze in place with her back arched, arms stretched above her head, and one foot daintily lifted. It was a credit to her balance that she did not wobble at all as she turned her head to the side curiously and met the baffled gaze of a matronly woman garbed in black and white. Relena straightened and lowered her foot and arms with no hint of a blush adorning her cheeks and bid the woman a calm good evening.

"Miss Relena!" the maid gasped in recognition, clutching the fresh bed linens in her arms tighter as her eyes flickered rapidly over the well-dressed young woman standing in front of her. She seemed torn over whether to approach the famous diplomat or flee back down the hallway in hysterics. The maid's voice shook as she queried, "Can I help you, miss? Are you lost?"

Relena's face softened at the woman's obvious discomfort. She knew the habits of the wealthy. The help had no doubt been told to stay out of the guests' sight as they went about their necessary duties, yet here this poor woman was face-to-face with one of the most famous and very afraid that she would be in trouble because of it. So Relena hoped anyway, as it was much preferable to the thought that it was she herself whom the maid found so frightening. The young diplomat's lips eased into a gentle, conspiratorial smile, and she dropped her best curtsy in lieu of offering her hand to the woman. Relena cocked her head as she straightened, her eyes calm yet friendly, and murmured, "I would be most appreciative if you kept my whereabouts a secret. I just want a bit of peace and quiet, you understand."

The maid started, taking a few steps forward on her haste to provide assurance and nearly losing her grip on the linens. "Oh, no, miss!" she gasped. "It's fine! The manor is completely open to the guests, well, except for the locked rooms, of course, but there's no reason why you shouldn't come up here if you wish. It's just odd, you see," she trailed off, a dark red flush spreading over her cheeks at the realization that she was babbling to Relena Darlian.

"I am quite odd, I assure you," Relena replied, adding a delicate bell-like laugh carefully practiced to put the uncomfortable listener at ease. As if to prove her point, she slightly at the waist and lifted first one foot then the other, gracefully slipping off her heels. She wiggled her stockinged toes in the lush burgundy carpet and sighed with relief. Regardless of their supposed function, those shoes certainly were not suited for dancing.

"I won't tell a soul you're up here, Miss Relena. Not a soul!" The maid offered a tremulous smile in return and bobbed in an awkward version of Relena's previous curtsy before sidling around Relena. "It's been an honor to meet you, ma'am, but I really must be going."

Relena curled her fingers in a silent, childlike wave and turned along with the maid, smiling after her as woman scampered away down the hall and disappeared into a guest bedroom. As the distant click of the heavy oak door falling shut reached her ears, the lines of her lips turned rueful and her hand dropped. She turned and wandered idly toward the balustrade, her shoes dangling from their ankle straps in her right hand and thumping against the full skirt of her dress with each step. She transferred the supposedly sensible heels to her left hand and laid her right atop the flat, broad mahogany sweep of the balustrade, trailing her fingers down its length as she walked.

As she came abreast of the sizable Christmas tree and its colored strings of lights threw rainbow sparkles across the bare skin of her arms and face, she stopped and allowed her shoes to fall to the floor. Here. This would do nicely. It provided the perfect vantage point. She could see out easily, but the revelers below would only notice her with great difficultly after prolonged staring, tucked away as she was behind the massive bulk of the Christmas tree. The music and conversation from below were muffled by distance and the thick carpeting, the lighting softer and less intense, the shadows deeper and sheltered by the overhang of a lower ceiling. The upper hallway had been constructed like a balcony, providing a dramatic and unobstructed view of the open ballroom beneath. Relena heartily approved of the architectural design. People watching really was quite delightful when one did not have to be down there among them.

Relena propped her arms on the balustrade and leaned over, watching the festivities below with an unfeigned delight she could neither match nor mimic while mingling among her fellow diplomats. It was truly a magnificent celebration. Politicians, the wealthy, and the merely famous had gathered from all over the earth and the colonies to celebrate this one night of peace. After the ending of the war and the aborted rebellion a year after, Christmas had become associated with the anniversary of the arrival of peace, not completely out of keeping with its religious roots. Nevertheless, Relena often wondered what the nuns who had schooled would say about the change in significance. She did not think they would disapprove exactly, but she was sure they would have some most interesting comments. Despite the distinct lack of nuns and theological discussion on the ballroom floor, the seemingly never-ending pomp and circumstance were draining and took their toll on even the most experienced and well-traveled diplomat, particularly when that diplomat was an introvert by nature. Such an introverted diplomat would take the first opportunity to run away and hide, lurking up above where no one knew where she had gone. Relena smiled. People might be curious if they noticed her absence, but they would not be worried. Not tonight. Not on Christmas.

One pale blond head weaving through the crowd below caught her attention, and she leaned farther over the balustrade. Quatre Winner's face lifted up as if he could sense her, and indeed he probably could, she thought wryly. Their eyes met, and she thought she saw comprehension flicker across his face during that brief moment of connection. There was certainly the tingle of awareness kindled in her own body that an understanding had passed between them. His gaze skimmed along as if nothing had happened though. He would not call attention to her in her hiding place. She cupped her chin in her hand. Sweet, generous, thoughtful Quatre. She had no doubt that there were other places he would rather be as well, and yet he took his date for the evening abandoning him quite well. Quatre would make her excuses for her if any needed to be made. Sometime in the future she would be sure to return the favor.

She pulled back slightly, becoming less noticeable, receding into the shadows above the sea of glittering light and colorfully garbed, gaily twirling couples as a particularly strong pang of nostalgia hit her. She missed the wonder and simplicity that had accompanied her childhood Christmases. Her parents had refused to attend any balls or gatherings and had dinner together at home as a family. Christmas was one of the few times when they were all together, could eat together, talk together, love together. Those days were gone now though, with Father dead and Mother throwing herself into charity work to fill the void left from his loss. She was down below somewhere as well, unless she too had managed to slip off to do something more suited to her tastes. Relena would not be surprised if she had. For all that there was no biological bond between them, Relena was in some ways very much her mother's daughter, and she did not see her mother down below.

Une was noticeably absent from the gathering as well. Relena had heard through Sally that Une had insisted on Mariemaia having a normal holiday experience for once, one in which she was not the subject of gossip and scrutiny at such a gala. The Preventer commander also tended to avoid functions where Relena's mother would be as a matter of principle. Relena thought it was kind of her in its way. Mother did not understand and could not because she had not been there, had not witnessed it, how war could change people, how the Une now was not the same person she had been before. The one who had killed Father. Relena's eyes tightened with a familiar prickle, and she scrubbed the back of her wrist across them angrily. It was Christmas. It was no time for thoughts like that. She had forgiven. She could not forget (how could anyone?), but she had forgiven.

"Care to drown your sorrows?"

The calm, almost disinterested masculine voice behind had her heart hammering in her throat in an instant though it was neither unwelcome nor unexpected. She laughed, a weak watery sound, not surprised that he had found her, had come for her as he so often did. She turned slowly, raising her head so that blue eyes met darker blue, and leaned against the railing as she studied him. His dark hair was somewhat tamer than usual, and a crisp black suit and not a tuxedo encased his lean form with an earpiece clipped to his collar and dangling loosely down his chest rather than in his ear where it belonged and a bottle and two champagne flutes in his hands.

She raised her eyebrows in mock disapproval as he approached her. "You should not be drinking on the job, Heero."

He shrugged wordlessly and set the pair of champagne flutes down atop the wide balustrade though he did not relinquish his grip on the bottle. He turned it idly in his hands as he studied her in return, taking note of the stockinged toes peeking out beneath her gown and the abandoned strap heels nearby before moving up to her gloveless hands and arms and ending with the tiny loose curls escaping from their pins. Relena forced herself not to fidget under his scrutiny. His gaze was nearly clinical, certainly not lustful. There was no reason for her heart rate to increase or for her to have the insane desire to suck in her stomach while throwing out her chest. None at all.

"I haven't drunk anything all night," he said finally, jarring her from her internal musings. His eyes narrowed as he added pointedly, "Neither have you."

Her eyes flickered away from his as she reached for one of the empty flutes and raised it into the air between them. "Well, I suppose if you are looking for excuses... I would be delighted."

He made no move to fill the flute, and her stare intensified so that she felt the glass should shatter in her hand.

"You're not going to request to see the bottle?" He sounded surprised rather than merely curious or intrigued, and she stiffened and raised her head slowly, amazement clear in her wide eyes. Heero turned the bottle in his hands again. "You never drink anything that you haven't opened yourself."

"Not since Dekim and Mariemaia drugged my tea," Relena agreed, withdrawing her offered flute and tapping the glass with a fingernail so that it chimed softly, a little nervous gesture that he managed to quell with a glance. She licked lips that she never realized where dry until he had mentioned she had had nothing to drink all night and smiled up at him ruefully. "It has seemed safer not to, and I was not aware that anyone had noticed my newly developed habit since I always carry something for appearance's sake."

Heero only raised his eyebrows.

Relena pushed away from the balustrade and stepped closer to him, torn between irritation and amusement. She chose amusement at it was the emotion more conducive to future interaction. She really should have known better anyway. It was Heero who had noticed her quirk after all. "Forgive me for doubting your powers of observation, Heero. If it pleases you, I will, of course, examine the bottle... though I doubt you have any intentions to do me harm."

The left corner of his mouth twitched though his face remained otherwise expressionless. "You have too much faith in people."

"Not people," Relena corrected, holding her flute primly with both hands in front of her stomach. She tossed her head, freeing a few more strands of golden hair, and met his eyes squarely. "You. If I had faith in people I would drink everything given to me. I do not because to do so has proven foolish and hazardous to my health. I do trust you though."

He walked over and settled against the balustrade at her side, their shoulders nearly touching and she did not move away. "Do you?" He looked down at her, eyes dark and serous, and she imagined that if she were fanciful enough she could see doubt swimming in them.

She laughed, at her own whimsy more than at his query, and briefly touched his arm to lesson any sting her amusement in the response of his gravity might have had. "We can go back and forth on this matter all you like, Heero, but, yes, I do trust you, death threats I presume you longer intend to carry out and all."

He gave a tiny, nearly imperceptible shake of his head, that near smile once again touching his lips, and pulled a corkscrew from the depths of one of his inside jacket pockets. Relena wondered if he had put it there solely for this particular occasion or if it could serve another, more sinister purpose should the need arise, but decided not to ask. She watched with ill-concealed fascination as he broke the wax seal and removed the cork, the lights from the tree behind them illuminating the bottle and creating fanciful images on the myriad small scars adorning his hands. He removed the flute from her hand and poured some of the sparkling clear liquid into it before returning it and filling his own.

Relena's eyes widened as she took a delicate sip, and she eyed the bottle suspiciously. "Is that-?"

"Nonalcoholic," Heero finished before she could complete her question, setting the still open bottle down on the balustrade beside him. "A gift from Quatre."

She laughed, delighted, and extended her flute again. "Well then, don't be sparing, Heero. Fill her up. I haven't had a drink all night after all."

"You'll get dehydrated," he reproached as he filled the slender flute to the top.

"I don't normally," Relena retorted, belying her words with a long drink.

"But you have," Heero responded, plucking the flute from her fingers amidst a flurry of surprised whimpered protestations and filling it again before giving it back.

She glared at him as she downed the cool liquid again, carelessly swiping the back of her hand across her mouth before thrusting the empty flute at him for another refill. Her dignity was a non-issue where Heero Yuy was involved. Once he had put the bottle back down, she left her spot and stood in front of him, stepping closer until her chest nearly brushed against his and she could see the flecks of silvery gray around his pupils, pupils which seemed to grow larger the closer she came. Her breath fanned across his lips as she murmured, "Only when you or someone else I trust enough not to spike my beverages wasn't around. In which case it was your fault, not mine."

She pulled away after she had made her point, though his hand about her wrist kept her from going very far. Heero closed his eyes, tipped his own flute up to his mouth for the first time, and took a long gulp before staring back at her. "Relena-"

"Are you here in an official capacity or as a guest?" she cut in briskly, her gaze flicking over his form once again. His build, his clothes, his posture, everything. He oozed self-confident masculinity, and she unconsciously wet her lips.

He took another drink, eyeing her steadily, and did not answer.

There was something about the way his hand shifted on her wrist though, something in the way his gaze slid away from hers for the briefest moment, something about the earpiece dangling from his collar and not in his ear where it belonged. She cocked her head, golden hair tumbling to the side and a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're not supposed to be here at all, are you?" she murmured delightedly.

Heero's gaze never left her own as he silently dropped her hand and refilled his champagne flute.

Relena settled back onto the balustrade at his side, deliberately nudging his arm with her elbow as she commented, "You have not asked me why I am up here all by myself."

"I don't need to."

She chuckled. "Know me that well, do you?"

His own lips quirked at that.

"I'm glad you're here, Heero. It's nice to spend Christmas with a familiar face." She glanced at him beneath her lashes and dryly added, "Not friendly, exactly, but familiar."

He snorted.

The music started up again at that moment, and Relena turned, watching people pair off below and swing into a waltz. She searched out the familiar blond head of her escort for the evening with a sort of benevolent possessiveness, ready to swoop in and save him should the need arise. Quatre really was a dear. He disliked these functions just as much as she did. That was why they always went together, to have someone who shared the sentiment and could provide interesting alternative conversation. He should sneak away as well. At the worst it would be assumed that the blond pair had gone off for a private tryst, and that was hardly something that would provide any lasting damage to either of their reputations. However, he did not seem to be faring too badly as he whirled Sally around the floor. Wufei was on duty somewhere, no doubt skulking in the shadows somewhere as Heero was known to do, but Sally was an official guest, acting in Une's stead. She would make a perfectly suitable partner for Quatre in Relena's stead. She hated formal galas as well.

Relena sighed as she watched them. "We don't belong here. None of us do." Heero made a questioning noise in reply, turning and following her gaze. She inclined her head towards the pair, Quatre's pale hair glowing like a beacon under the lights. "They look like they're having fun though," she mused, repeating her earlier thoughts aloud. "As much fun as can be had at a formal gala. Sally didn't have an escort this evening, did she? Not an official guard, but an escort, a date."

"No."

"I'll leave her to Quatre then. They'll be good company for each other."

Heero looked down at her sharply. "What about you?"

"What about me?" she echoed, taking the flute from his hand and setting it down on the balustrade beside her own. "I've got you, and you're such a gentleman that you didn't even try to get me tipsy."

"Are you complaining?" he questioned nearly inaudibly, his brows rising as his mouth quirked.

"Not at all," Relena retorted cheekily, tossing her head and grinning at him. She backed away, and curtseyed, leaving him bemused but without a gun this time. "Will you dance with me, Heero?"

"You're not wearing any shoes," he pointed out, glancing at her discarded pair of heels.

She kicked them away. "You had best take care not to step on my feet then."

He shrugged, and snagged her hand, pulling her to him suddenly enough to leave her breathless. His hands were gentle and slow though as they began to guide her through the steps. She moved in time to the tempo he set, nearly content to just let the moment be. Unfortunately there was just one burning comment she had to make.

"Heero?"

"What?"

"This isn't a waltz."

He hummed in agreement, and dipped his head to her hair. As he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, he pulled her closer. Her arms flowed up his back as the music continued and wrapped loosely around his neck, and his curled across her waist, slipping down near her hips occasionally before slowly inching their way back into propriety. It felt quite nice actually. She twined her fingers though the soft short hair at the nape of his neck, and let her forehead rest against his shoulder as he guided them in slow, even circles across the carpeting. Away from the light. Toward a very strategic corner. She smiled against his jacket.

The cloth muffled her voice as her hands tightened in his hair, and she ordered, "I know what you're planning. And I want you to stop it this instant."

He stopped and his arms slowly slipped away from her and fell at his sides. When he looked at her, his expression was carefully neutral.

"There is no point in it, Heero," Relena stated firmly, and she pressed forward as he backed away. His hands curled into fists at his side, but she did not stop until they were toe to toe and their breath mingled. She stared into his eyes, noting the confusion he tried to hide, as her hands framed his face. "It may be Christmas, but I have been wary all night. Don't think I haven't been observing my surroundings. You in conjunction with experience have taught me better. There is no point in it," she repeated, her grip on his face tightening fractionally as she pulled his head down to hers. "You don't need mistletoe to kiss me..."


End file.
